


The Rebirth of Dreams

by Blacksquirrel



Category: Brotherhood of the Wolf (2001)
Genre: 18th Century, Character of Color, First Time, Interracial Relationship, M/M, Military, War, Yuletide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-12-25
Updated: 2007-12-25
Packaged: 2017-10-02 19:27:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,180
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9817
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Blacksquirrel/pseuds/Blacksquirrel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the woods of New France a beast, an army, and two wanderers circle toward their fates.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Rebirth of Dreams

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to my wonderful beta RevolutionaryJo

In the time just after creation, after the Earth brought forth the trees and streams, birds and plants, animals and people, she settled herself in for a long slumber. Exhausted from her labors, she slept long and deep, until a commotion from above awoke her. Stirring reluctantly, she allowed her awareness to drift over her creation, over flowers and hills, valleys and insects, until she came upon something she had not created. Everywhere she had provided people with the means to form relationships through hospitality, so that each neighbor could say to another, "As you are my neighbor, let no ill will come between us." Everywhere she felt hands take up the pipe and use it in this way, as she had created. Yet she also felt that not all came to the ritual with right mind and right intentions. As they sat and promised, smoked, broke bread, and made vows, she felt a new presence emerge. Greed and Deceit, her misbegotten grandchildren, had been born of these distorted exchanges, and they now used her signs and symbols to their own ends. She rumbled and shook at this, revolted by her progeny's exploitation of her gifts. With nothing to balance the effects of broken trust, Greed and Deceit might consume the whole of human relations. So, she shook harder still and summoned the strength to birth one final creation. Drawing the Northern wind inside of herself, she brought forth an eater of Greed, a being made of eternal hunger to consume Deceit, just as Greed and Deceit consumed the people. Very tired again, the Earth left her creation once more in balance, and slept.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Through a thick haze of falling snow, Fronsac stood watching the last ranks of his company disappear into the distance. Their crunching footfalls echoed eerily through the valley, but the forest eventually swallowed all traces of even the sound of their departure, leaving him utterly alone, with the stranger beside him. Trees and empty space pressed against him from all sides. Although he'd long since grown into the height and sturdy breadth of his adult body, he felt suddenly dwarfed by the vast expanse of branches, and remembered for a moment the sharp sound of his father's retreating steps and the heavy vaulted ceilings of the _salle_ where he'd been left in the care of a stern swordmaster as a boy. The sense of an entire world and his place within it slipping irreversibly beyond him felt nauseatingly familiar.

He peered down, and already a thin layer of fresh powder covered the toes of his boots. In moments the tiny drift would engulf his ankles, like the slow but persistent grasp of an icy hand rising from the earth to hold him fast. They left him to die here, he knew, but none would expect the job to be completed so quickly, for him to freeze in place where they'd banished him. The boots gradually vanishing beside his own finally registered, and he amended the mental image to include two icy corpses standing guardian at the side of a deserted path, each alone although together, each utterly without a people. What a strange _folie a deux_ they would make should the other condemned man wordlessly agree to commit his frozen corpse to this spot, two mute warnings against the depths of human betrayal.

Minutes, seconds, or hours passed as images spun behind his eyes and snow collected over him. No one thing broke his numb inertia, not a change in the wind, nor the sound of movement in the undergrowth. Rather an itching awareness, the faint ghost of his habitual curiosity, took hold of his weary flesh and refused to allow a slow slide into defeated sleep. That little flicker of want, of life, latched tenaciously onto the silent presence beside him, asking questions in an insidious whisper. Relentlessly: Who was he? What was his name? What crime had condemned him in the eyes of the criminals who now marched far away?

With a wrenching effort he left the vision of his icy grave, and forced dexterity back into a throat, lips, and tongue atrophied from disuse and robbed of moist breath by the frigid, dry air. At first a grunt escaped him, barely audible above the howl of the wind, followed by a rasping, painful cough. So he carefully swallowed and hummed low. Tentatively he tried again. "Shelter?" he rumbled in English, and the man beside him startled, pulled from his own long contemplation of a desolate, snowy eternity. He nearly despaired of a response while the man stared ahead, but finally the figure shook off an avalanche of accumulated powder and turned to face him. "We should check the camp for abandoned supplies first," the man replied in flawless French while his glassy dark eyes bored into Fronsac. He feared that the sliver of his face visible between cap and scarf spoke just as clearly of precarious determination.

As if attempting to deny the period of shared immobility, they burst into motion, retrieving packs of gear, left suspended high above them lest retaliation should enter their minds with the company still in sight, and hastening back to comb over the scant remains of the camp. Wordlessly, they set upon a spot near the remains of a large cooking fire, and began the work of piecing together the staples of survival. The packs yielded a tent and blankets which, although shoddy and patched, pushed a relieved breath from Fronsac's rigid torso. A blur of activity found them shivering within the hastily assembled and reinforced tent, with stones heating in the fire just outside.

Left with a roiling agitation and few remaining tasks while the storm still blew outside, Fronsac turned his attention to his companion in exile. Little information came to him after his fateful refusal and the Captain's order that none speak to him, but still he heard murmurings that one prisoner had been taken who had returned from a long absence to find the company putting his tribe to the torch. Fronsac examined the scant inch of visible skin on the man's face and tried to match that inch of nose, those steady eyes to the flickering image of a shadow from the night he'd crossed his Captain's tent for the last time, awaiting the pronouncement of his fate. He could not be sure, but he questioned, "You speak many languages. Most Mohawk do not learn French." The man inclined his head and his eyes smiled, as if reliving a pleasanter time. "Where did you learn it?" Fronsac pressed, hungry for knowledge, hungry for the taste of words. "In a dream," the man wistfully replied. Fronsac straightened, and thought of his sample trays, thick stacks of notebooks, and trunks of trimmings, bound for France without him, then remembered ranks of officers closing in against him. "I no longer believe in dreams," he said, and left the tent to retrieve the fire-warmed stones.

He returned to find the other man already arranging bedding into one enormous cocoon, and immediately joined him in laying wet outerwear aside. He caught brief glimpses of muscle and ink as the other man shed layers of cloth, then they were both ensconced in warmth, sharing heat along their spines, and tucking dangerously numb fingers and toes into the pockets of absorbed fire radiating from the stones. When at last the shivering subsided he reached one tentative hand out of their nest to rummage through the meager rations they'd been left. Wordlessly he handed a bit of flavorless hard biscuit behind him, and they gnawed and sucked, passing a canteen between them, while snow weighed down the sides of the tent.

Lulled by the presence of food in his stomach, the cessation of immediate danger, and the smooth comfort of skin against his back, he began to doze, but just as he slipped beneath the tide of sleep he heard the other man's voice saying, "What did they tell you we are to do?" Forcing open his drooping eyelids, he stretched alertness back into his frame and replied, "The Lieutenant ordered that I return only with the pelt of a white and grey bear. I've studied the woods of New France for three years and not come across such a specimen, although I've heard tell of similar creatures far to the North. They meant to leave me here churning with false hope, but I know I will never return to the regiment, they will report me as a deserter, and I will never be welcomed again by my family or the court."

Voicing the admission cut, although he'd acknowledged the truth almost immediately, so when the other man broke into laughter he might have taken offense, had he not noted its hollow, dejected tenor. "You've no idea what we're hunting," the man rasped, and as he shook his head long strands of his sleek hair slid across Fronsac's neck. "The bear is not only an animal, but spirit made flesh, molded to consume human beings who break trust with each other. Our people have known its presence for generations and some among us fed its hungers well, but never has it grown so voracious as since the armies of Europe began struggling to subsume this land." Fronsac groaned. An albino bear, or an arctic bear could have kept him searching for years, but the mere legend of a bear had no skin to give even should he search for a millennium.

The man levered himself up beside Fronsac, and although the tent interior had warmed considerably, insulated by a blanket of accumulated snow, a chill settled in the space he vacated, so Fronsac turned to peer up into the man's open face. "My name is Mani," he said, "and I'm pleased to know a man condemned to hunt an immortal embodiment of vengeance by those who murdered my family. To merit such a task, you must have struck them a great blow."

Fronsac shrank from the praise, and protested, "You're mistaken. I did nothing."

The man tilted his head in consternation, asking, "What, then?"

Fronsac rolled onto his side, turned his face away, and stared into the darkness of the tent's depths as he answered, "I refused the order to assist in selling a shipment of pox-laden blankets to enemy tribes, and stood under guard while they slaughtered the survivors. I changed nothing." He tensed, waiting for a blow to fall, listening for a shriek of indignation, awaiting a furious shove out into the frozen world beyond. Yet, no reprisal came. Instead, a gentle hand settled on his shoulder, and rolled him onto his back. He stubbornly kept his eyes averted, but finally could stand the silence no longer, so he added, "There was one final thing I failed to do. When I reported to the Captain's tent to hear him pass my sentence, I raised no alarm when I saw a man in the shadows standing above the Captain's body." Finally meeting Mani's even gaze, he caught the glint of recognition, and no trace of censure. He asked, "And you? What was your crime?" Had they identified him as an assassin he would be dead, not entombed in blankets with an insubordinate ex-officer.

With a twisted smile Mani bitterly explained, "I survived."

Fronsac reached up and grasped Mani's hand in his own. "My name is Chevalier Grégoire de Fronsac," he said, "and I am pleased to know the man who struck such a great blow."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

In the night the snow eased, and by morning when they peeked out it had ceased completely, leaving a bright sun to shine down upon an enormous set of tracks which circled the deserted camp, then trailed off into the distance where the company had departed. They eyed each other appraisingly, and in silent agreement packed up and readied themselves to follow. Fronsac considered what kind of animal might masquerade as a spirit with such particular appetites, but dismissed the possibility of generations of rabid albino bears as prohibitively unlikely. Mani reviewed his life from the perspective of a being ravenous for betrayal, and tried to imagine his fate should he find himself standing, vulnerable, beneath that hungry gaze.

They traveled swiftly in the wake of enormous paw impressions which twisted up embankments and through hidden passes, only to repeatedly rejoin the broad swath of compacted snow left by the plodding of many marching feet. Yet around midday their stomachs contracted painfully around the bare sustenance of the hard biscuits, and they paused to ensnare something more substantial. They suspended their packs and split off, searching for any sign of small game.

Mani returned first, and while he waited he started a fire and dressed his rabbit on a spit, pondering potential futures in the company of the taciturn Frenchman, and the possibility of his future alone should Fronsac never return. Somewhere there lived a tribe who would take him in, among whom he could pray and heal, draw comfort from human companionship and make medicine. But they would never be his people. He called to mind images of his family sickened, and the guttural death knell of the man responsible choking on blood and his blade, but already the sharpness of those memories faded, as if the human mind could not retain their intensity. He had fulfilled his last obligation, and yet still he survived. As the fog of time claimed even the memory of his world, he felt himself gradually reawakened, changed, or perhaps even new.

Fronsac had gone far afield, but finally came across a stream where he ducked out of sight until he leapt upon a goose who had alighted to drink. Following a thin trail of smoke filtering up above the tree line, he retraced his way back to Mani. The size of those paw prints and the agility their winding path suggested weighed upon him, raising for the first time the potential that a white pelt might soon be his, and a means to regain his position in the company, in society, in the halls of court and the chambers of his family seat. But just as the thought welled up within him he came upon the clearing where Mani sat near the cooking fire and remembered the stony faces of all those respectable men who turned against him when he insisted that battles fought with pestilent blankets earned no honor, and that wars mustn't be waged upon the bodies of women and children. Had his Captain acted alone, his faith may have endured, but in the long days spent quarantined from all camp activity while men he could never again regard with respect calmly arranged a massacre, all sense of conviction in an order and nobility to the universe fell away. He choked on the bitterness of disillusionment.

As he approached the fire, Mani looked up with a smile and arranged his spitted rabbit to roast. Fronsac settled in beside him, loosening his heavy winter wear and making quick work of preparing and propping up his bird. Mani nodded toward the goose and observed, "He is far out of season. The rest of his kind have long since flown South." Fronsac studied the rising flames, adding, "And he'll never join them now. Do you suppose they remember him, and wonder where he's gone?"

Mani peered into the fire as well, then reached out and laid a hand upon Fronsac's shoulder. Carefully he noted, "Even had he set out today, or met them in the spring upon their return, they would not recognize him. He's felt a harsher winter than they'll ever know."

Fronsac looked up and measured the certainty in Mani's countenance, then reached a hand across his chest to rest it upon Mani's own, nodding in understanding.

Cutting away strips of meat as it cracked and browned, they passed the food between them, gorging on the luxurious ease of quiet companionship. Watching rich grease glisten on Mani's lips from the corner of his eye, Fronsac cut another sliver of goose. But when Mani's hand lifted to receive it, he lifted higher and delivered the meat directly to Mani open mouth. Their eyes met for endless seconds until, with a challenging quirk of his brow, Mani's lips closed around the steaming flesh and caressed the tips of Fronsac's fingers to seal there a kind of promise. Fronsac withdrew his fingers to trace them along the curve of Mani's lower lip, and then brought them to his own mouth where his tongue chased the lush traces of goose, earthy contentment, and sweet possibility.

They sat watching each other, distractedly picking the last bits of meat from the two crackling carcasses, while the fire burned down and the sun began to sink in the sky. Reluctantly they pushed on, pilling snow over their cooking fire and the delicate flames which stirred there. Retrieving their packs, they set again upon the trail of prints. Fronsac worried over what they might do if they found the company before they came across the bear, while warming to the thought of abandoning the hunt entirely to build a new existence around the man beside him. Mani considered what they might do if the bear found them before it filled its belly with the company's treachery, and wondered what the spirit would see when it looked into him, and into Fronsac.

An entire company of soldiers moved at a crawling pace compared to the swift progress of two men with light equipment and extensive wilderness experience, or to the devastatingly long gait of a predator in single-minded pursuit, but although Fronsac and Mani had drawn quite close to their quarries' positions, the setting sun firmly foreclosed the possibility of any resolution that night. Under a darkening sky which cast the entire snowy landscape in deep blues, they set up camp, the task significantly prolonged by the sidelong looks they surreptitiously cast upon each other. They built a fire and lingered beside it as stars winked into life above them, watching each other's every blurry expression through a haze of smoke. Finally, Mani stood and held the tent flap open in invitation. Fronsac straightened and left the last ghostly echo of his former self behind as he entered the tent.

Once inside they peeled away layers of thick cloaks and jackets with none of the unselfconscious hurry of the previous night. Now Fronsac's eyes lingered with heady impunity on the elegant lines and curves of black ink adorning the planes of Mani's back and chest, while Mani's eyes pressed a tingle of awakening awareness deeper into Fronsac's flesh with each layer he removed. Nude, they remained on opposite sides of the tent, panting shallowly in the chill air, until without warning Fronsac broke the tension and surged forward to attack Mani's wrist, the point of his hip, and the pulse at his throat with frantic lips. Mani reeled back under the assault, then pushed forward and bore them both to the ground where they rolled without concern for control, propelled only by the lazy momentum of passion. Finding himself sprawled over Fronsac when they settled atop the pallet of blankets, Mani brought their lips together at last, and felt the rumble of Fronsac's groan all along his chest as they nipped and slipped tentative tongues into an intimate caress.

Bringing his hands up to span the breadth of Mani's shoulders, Fronsac smoothed them down, rib by rib, over to the dip of Mani's lower back, then up the swell of his ass where he pressed down to bring their cocks into riotous contact. The shock of pleasure arched Mani's back involuntarily, breaking their kiss and rasping Mani's taut nipples across Fronsac's own, drawing a groan from them both. Shaking with want, Mani reached behind him to draw Fronsac's hand further down, raising his eyebrows in a question. Rising upwards into a seated position, Fronsac recaptured Mani's lips while running soothing fingers up the thickly muscled thighs which now straddled him. Teasing at the juncture of thigh and buttock, Fronsac drew his caress inward to cup the weight of Mani's testicles, then up into the stretch of skin just behind. Mani bucked above him, grinding their cocks together again, and Fronsac bit his lip to hold back the impending edge in exquisite self-inflicted denial.

On a moan Mani leaned back to rummage through a pack for their tiny allowance of cooking suet, then bent forward again to press the slick little block into Fronsac's roaming hand and suck frantically at the tender skin just behind his ear, breathing in pants across the moisture he left there and nibbling at the sensitive lobe. Fronsac coated his fingers and pressed a single digit inside Mani, who groaned in relief, pushing down against him. Fronsac's eyes slipped shut and his mouth dropped open in startled satisfaction as the passage yielded smoothly to his touch. As he slipped a second finger in, Mani raised himself up impatiently, tipping his pelvis forward. Withdrawing his fingers, Fronsac leaned back to brace himself on his elbows and watched, entranced, as Mani reached down to guide his cock inside. The sounds of their delight spilled out in three languages, filling the little tent as they adjusted to the overwhelming ache of such visceral closeness

What seemed an eternity later, Mani reached one reverent palm down to trace the straining muscles from Fronsac's quivering stomach up to his corded neck, and then bent forward to bite a claim into the line of his broad clavicle. Fronsac's cry released a deluge of fervor, and they broke into a frantic rush for completion, their hips rising and falling in effortless synchronicity. Bringing a hand around to stroke Mani's cock, Fronsac nearly came at the heavy-lidded expression of ecstasy on Mani's upturned face but he held on, memorizing every ripple and slope of the precious body above him, until Mani's mouth opened on a silent shout, and he finally welcomed the roar of pleasure that wracked his body, snapping his eyes shut and leaving him quivering weakly.

Mani collapsed atop him and it took Fronsac several tries to convince his leaden body to roll them to their sides and rearrange the scattered bedding, trapping in their expended warmth. Fronsac nuzzled sleepily at the curve of Mani's cheek, and then joined him in exhausted slumber, blissfully oblivious to the chill of the wind which howled outside the tent, carrying within it the last vestiges of distant growls and screams.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

In the morning, Mani awoke to a string of lazy kisses that began at the peak of his shoulder blade and wound around his throat to wetly tease open his sluggish lips. Barely awake, he ran a hand down the juncture of their chests to cup Fronsac's firming cock. In their frenzy, he'd hardly glimpsed it the night before, so now he charted every smooth portion of its length and savored the flavor of Fronsac's moans. A broad hand joined his, bringing their morning erections into shattering closeness and weaving fingers through his own as their hips languidly glided together. As pleasure circled softly, Mani hooked a leg behind Fronsac's, wanting to feel the lush solidity of Fronsac's frame pressed along every expanse of his yearning body. Their kisses grew languid and sloppy, until he drew back to rub his smooth cheek against the rough growth on Fronsac's chin, groaning into the sensual abrasion. Then, without warning, Fronsac tensed against him, and as he looked into wide blue eyes he too felt the sudden swoop of satisfaction steal his breath. Fronsac nestled closer to kiss him again, and fell into a contented doze. Mani watched him sleep, taking in the arch of his brows, his strong nose, the plush curve of his lips, and the cascade of his flaxen hair. Mani noted each of these, and as he stored them away he wondered whether he did so to plan the next path of his touch, or against the possibility of a future filled only with the devastating return of isolation.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

When Fronsac woke, they made quick work of packing up, and soon rejoined the trail of paw impressions. They hadn't been far behind the previous evening, and even with the morning's delayed departure, the company likely remained close ahead. Yet with every step into the thickly snow-flocked woods, an uneasy awareness spread between them, and they shared little anxious glances. They saw no sign of the company, but pursued the broadly spaced prints beneath an archway of branches into a large clearing, where apprehension gripped them firm and they shuddered to a stop. Abruptly, birdsong had ceased, no squirrel or chipmunk rattled the brittle brambles at the clearing's edge, and only the sound of their own harsh breath reached their ears. Finally, as if from nowhere, a massive white and grey paw stepped out from behind tree cover and into the clearing.

The bear exuded a fierce aura of strength and age, and it looked them over with dark, unfathomable eyes, meandering closer in supreme confidence. Reaching the center of the clearing its head tilted as if deep in thought, then it reared back on its hind legs and let out a shattering call. Fronsac had not breathed since it appeared, and he watched, horrified but helplessly frozen, as Mani set down his pack, spread his arms, and stepped forward. The great bear stood more than head and shoulders above Mani's compact frame, and Fronsac frantically willed himself to move, to reach for his rifle or knife, while man and animal searched each other before him. The bear tottered closer, and with a fluid motion belied by its ungainly size, it swung one forepaw wide to slam against the side of Mani's thigh, sending him flying back to land against the encircling trees with a thud that sent bile churning through Fronsac's stomach.

Without consciously realizing that his hypnotic immobility had lifted, Fronsac rushed to him, feeling his chest for signs of life, and turning to protectively square off against the bear which still loomed above them. It moved nearer, tipping its nose forward to sniff the air. Fronsac wished for his pack, now uselessly lying yards away, but when he met the bear's bottomless black eyes, all such thoughts fled and he saw nothing but Mani; Mani as he'd first seen him, covered in snow and determination, Mani in firelight, Mani with a dripping knife above the body of a monster, Mani in his arms, sighing pleasure into his mouth, and incongruously, Mani with him in Paris, bathed in the reflected glow of a sunset on the Seine, laughing in unabashed delight.

The image dissolved, and the blur of a sharply descending clawed paw took its place. Pain sprang to life across his chest and he fell backwards to sprawl awkwardly. As blackness tinged the edge of his vision he saw the bear take to all fours again and nod as if pleased, then turn back the way he had come to amble away. Before him, the snowy landscape appeared to melt into night, and he drifted away.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

When he surfaced again, Fronsac found Mani standing before him, favoring one leg and examining the horizon. Fronsac crouched to stand, wincing at the pain that burned across his breast, but when he parted the cloth there to examine his wound, he found nothing but the raised red lines of three neatly healed scars. He looked up in amazement and Mani compressed his lips, visibly weighing his words. Holding out a pack he simply said, "The company should not be far." Fronsac nodded, and they hobbled out of the clearing on the tracks left by the great bear.

They hadn't far to go before they found the first body, a scout manning the watch on the camp's perimeter. Great gaping chunks of his flesh had been bitten and clawed away, leaving him little more than a collection of bones and sinew above a sickly red patch of snow. Fronsac had known him vaguely, seen him walking through camp and eating by the cooking fire, but he felt only the faintest stirrings of sympathy. He had also seen him smiling over the charred bodies of the Native dead.

They walked past him and silence once again pressed around them. Over a hill and into a clearing they saw neat rows of tents, smelled still simmering stew, but not a sound emerged. Nothing stirred here anymore, save the heavy rasp of their breath.

Fronsac turned away and Mani watched his expression carefully, saying, "None remain."

"Then justice exists," Fronsac replied.

Mani quirked his brow in consideration and asked, "What did you see, when the spirit looked into you?"

Fronsac shook his head ruefully, admitting, "I cannot say if what I saw marked the touch of the divine, or merely the random workings of a mind facing its own end, but I saw us, in the forest, and in bed," Fronsac cupped one gloved hand over Mani's shoulder, "then I saw us together, in France, happy and free, as if in a beautiful dream."

Mani glowed, as if bursting with a lovely secret. He whispered, "Is it the kind of scene that might lead you to believe in dreams again?"

The shock of pieces falling into place wobbled Fronsac's knees and spun his head dizzily. "None remain to say what has happened here, except for us." He could go back. But - "Would you want that? Would you come with me to France?" Fronsac imagined the arts and letters of Paris, the bejeweled halls of court, and the lush bloom of the countryside, but saw them all loose their shine when he imagined himself there without Mani. He thought too of the poor of Paris, crushed beneath the boot of human greed, the insidious machinations of politics at court, and the empty rooms of his family home, still tainted by the chill disapproval of his father's ghost. All insufferable now, without Mani. He could not bear to watch Mani's face as he considered his offer, so he looked down and quickly added, "You need only say the word and we could disappear, find a tribe or community of traders where no one knows us. I would spend the rest of my days here, if I could spend them with you."

He felt the soft leather of Mani's glove smooth under his chin and lightly tip his face up. Mani shook his head and said, "I should like to leave this place. Every hill and valley, once dear and familiar, now holds only the gaping echo of my people's presence. Take me with you."

Fronsac's eyes slid closed in relief and he clasped Mani's hand with his own, leaning further into his palm. He asked, "What did you see, when the bear looked into you?"

Hearing no reply, he opened his eyes to find Mani smiling in a foreshadowed trace of the joy he'd seen in his vision. Mani pulled him into a kiss alight with possibilities, and whispered hotly against his lips, "I saw you."


End file.
